Re: The sign of the Scarlet Moon
Posted: Fri Jan 29, 2021 1:34 pm
`` In theory, such an old find should have been handed over to the museum a long time ago, '' Morden said grimly as he and Devyn entered the large glass elevator, `` but we have a small deal with the management of the New York Museum of History and Archeology ... editorial experts, their institution is always at the top of our monthly rankings ...
Devyn snorted softly. He had gotten a bit used to the fact that, even in noble fields like history and archeology, the human drive for power and tangible gains outweighed the sheer thirst for Truth - but he still felt uncomfortable with such pettiness.
- So tell me where did such a thing come from in your editorial office - he said, trying to distract himself from unpleasant thoughts - you conceal it as if it was some amazing secret ...
"Why," growled Morden. "It's just so trivial that it's a shame to talk about it." It came to us as a notarized shipment ... the sender was a certain James Hammerfield.
- THIS Hammerfield? - Kiasyd gasped from the impression - Professor of archeology, world renown, discoverer of many ancient artifacts ???
"Same," Morden muttered, stepping out of the elevator and gesturing for Devyn to follow him, "imagine our reaction to such a sudden gift." Never before has anyone given us such a ... direct gift. And then Hammerfield, who has never been on a good level with our editorial staff, especially after that ill-fated Simpson article on Mombasa ...
- Yes, I remember that - Devyn grimaced - To this day, I do not know why you insisted on this absurd claim about the influence of early African pictorial cultures on ...
- Okay, okay - the fat man interrupted hurriedly - now is not the time for such deliberations. Anyway, the parcel arrived ... we tried to communicate with the professor to explain such an unusual decision ... but for the last few days he was completely out of reach ... even for his relatives. The notary confirmed that the professor had commissioned him to hand over these pages a week earlier, just before he disappeared without a trace.
Walking slowly through the dark corridor, they finally came to a small door, almost invisible next to a large artificial palm tree.
`` This is our private emergency escape route, '' said Morden with a lopsided smile, `` you don't even know how nice it is sometimes to jump out quickly for a pizza or a beer without groveling in front of the editor and our cable receptionist ...
The key rattled against the slightly leaning lock.
The interior of the editorial office looked almost prosaic. A large room, full of workstations, shoddy desks piled high with papers, computers and coffee makers. In the air you could feel this specific smell that hovers in every larger office - a mixture of coffee, sweat and tiredness af`` In theory, such an old find should have been handed over to the museum a long time ago, '' Morden said grimly as he and Devyn entered the large glass elevator, `` but we have a small deal with the management of the New York Museum of History and Archeology ... editorial experts, their institution is always at the top of our monthly rankings ...
Devyn snorted softly. He had gotten a bit used to the fact that, even in noble fields like history and archeology, the human drive for power and tangible gains outweighed the sheer thirst for Truth - but he still felt uncomfortable with such pettiness.
- So tell me where did such a thing come from in your editorial office - he said, trying to distract himself from unpleasant thoughts - you conceal it as if it was some amazing secret ...
"Why," growled Morden. "It's just so trivial that it's a shame to talk about it." It came to us as a notarized shipment ... the sender was a certain James Hammerfield.
- THIS Hammerfield? - Kiasyd gasped from the impression - Professor of archeology, world renown, discoverer of many ancient artifacts ???
"Same," Morden muttered, stepping out of the elevator and gesturing for Devyn to follow him, "imagine our reaction to such a sudden gift." Never before has anyone given us such a ... direct gift. And then Hammerfield, who has never been on a good level with our editorial staff, especially after that ill-fated Simpson article on Mombasa ...
- Yes, I remember that - Devyn grimaced - To this day, I do not know why you insisted on this absurd claim about the influence of early African pictorial cultures on ...
- Okay, okay - the fat man interrupted hurriedly - now is not the time for such deliberations. Anyway, the parcel arrived ... we tried to communicate with the professor to explain such an unusual decision ... but for the last few days he was completely out of reach ... even for his relatives. The notary confirmed that the professor had commissioned him to hand over these pages a week earlier, just before he disappeared without a trace.
Walking slowly through the dark corridor, they finally came to a small door, almost invisible next to a large artificial palm tree.
`` This is our private emergency escape route, '' said Morden with a lopsided smile, `` you don't even know how nice it is sometimes to jump out quickly for a pizza or a beer without groveling in front of the editor and our cable receptionist ...
The key rattled against the slightly leaning lock.
The interior of the editorial office looked almost prosaic. A large room, full of workstations, shoddy desks piled high with papers, computers and coffee makers. In the air you could feel this specific smell that hovers in every larger office - a mixture of coffee, sweat and tiredness after hours of sitting. If he had not been aware of the purpose of this place, Devyn would never have guessed that it was the editorial office of a journal dealing with distant travel, history and archeology.
"The document is in the safe, in the chief's room," Morden said, turning the light switch, "you're lucky the weekend is starting and, apart from the cleaners, no one is in the office ... so you have until Sunday evening for your unfortunate" analysis ". although in my opinion it doesn't have the slightest ... what is it?
Suddenly a monstrous thud, a crash and a clink of glass broke into his ears. A hoarse scream towered over everything.
- It's from the chief's office! Morden shrieked, lunging tiger leaps toward the sizable brown door.
- Stop! Devyn shouted, but it was too late. With a thud, the thick door to the office flew off its hinges, slamming its weight against the confused fat man who had the misfortune to be right in front of them at that moment. Morden only let out a soft gasp, then slammed to the ground with the broken door. Kiasyd winced at the hideous crunch of broken bones.
And then he forgot about the editor of the World Review.
A bundle of arms and legs burst into the shambles with a roar and a grunt - it was only after a while that Devyn noticed that they were two figures fighting each other. Tense together, in terrible fury, the two men dealt mighty blows, kicks and bites. One of the desks burst under their weight as those remembered in an orgy of hatred collapsed, crushing office equipment. The computer monitor fell to the ground with the crash of a cracking screen.
Having fallen to the ground from a crushed piece of furniture, the opponents split for a moment, giving Kiasid time to examine them more closely.
One of them, dressed in black trousers and a jacket, hiding his face under a balaclava, was unrecognizable. The other was a short, young man with a pale complexion. The animal's face gleamed with a murderous grimace of teeth, from behind which came a growl that would not be ashamed of a wolf ...
Devyn knew he should do something ... he just didn't know what ...ter hours of sitting. If he had not been aware of the purpose of this place, Devyn would never have guessed that it was the editorial office of a journal dealing with distant travel, history and archeology.
"The document is in the safe, in the chief's room," Morden said, turning the light switch, "you're lucky the weekend is starting and, apart from the cleaners, no one is in the office ... so you have until Sunday evening for your unfortunate" analysis ". although in my opinion it doesn't have the slightest ... what is it?
Suddenly a monstrous thud, a crash and a clink of glass broke into his ears. A hoarse scream towered over everything.
- It's from the chief's office! Morden shrieked, lunging tiger leaps toward the sizable brown door.
- Stop! Devyn shouted, but it was too late. With a thud, the thick door to the office flew off its hinges, slamming its weight against the confused fat man who had the misfortune to be right in front of them at that moment. Morden only let out a soft gasp, then slammed to the ground with the broken door. Kiasyd winced at the hideous crunch of broken bones.
And then he forgot about the editor of the World Review.
A bundle of arms and legs burst into the shambles with a roar and a grunt - it was only after a while that Devyn noticed that they were two figures fighting each other. Tense together, in terrible fury, the two men dealt mighty blows, kicks and bites. One of the desks burst under their weight as those remembered in an orgy of hatred collapsed, crushing office equipment. The computer monitor fell to the ground with the crash of a cracking screen.
Having fallen to the ground from a crushed piece of furniture, the opponents split for a moment, giving Kiasid time to examine them more closely.
One of them, dressed in black trousers and a jacket, hiding his face under a balaclava, was unrecognizable. The other was a short, young man with a pale complexion. The animal's face gleamed with a murderous grimace of teeth, from behind which came a growl that would not be ashamed of a wolf ...
Devyn knew he should do something ... he just didn't know what ...
Devyn snorted softly. He had gotten a bit used to the fact that, even in noble fields like history and archeology, the human drive for power and tangible gains outweighed the sheer thirst for Truth - but he still felt uncomfortable with such pettiness.
- So tell me where did such a thing come from in your editorial office - he said, trying to distract himself from unpleasant thoughts - you conceal it as if it was some amazing secret ...
"Why," growled Morden. "It's just so trivial that it's a shame to talk about it." It came to us as a notarized shipment ... the sender was a certain James Hammerfield.
- THIS Hammerfield? - Kiasyd gasped from the impression - Professor of archeology, world renown, discoverer of many ancient artifacts ???
"Same," Morden muttered, stepping out of the elevator and gesturing for Devyn to follow him, "imagine our reaction to such a sudden gift." Never before has anyone given us such a ... direct gift. And then Hammerfield, who has never been on a good level with our editorial staff, especially after that ill-fated Simpson article on Mombasa ...
- Yes, I remember that - Devyn grimaced - To this day, I do not know why you insisted on this absurd claim about the influence of early African pictorial cultures on ...
- Okay, okay - the fat man interrupted hurriedly - now is not the time for such deliberations. Anyway, the parcel arrived ... we tried to communicate with the professor to explain such an unusual decision ... but for the last few days he was completely out of reach ... even for his relatives. The notary confirmed that the professor had commissioned him to hand over these pages a week earlier, just before he disappeared without a trace.
Walking slowly through the dark corridor, they finally came to a small door, almost invisible next to a large artificial palm tree.
`` This is our private emergency escape route, '' said Morden with a lopsided smile, `` you don't even know how nice it is sometimes to jump out quickly for a pizza or a beer without groveling in front of the editor and our cable receptionist ...
The key rattled against the slightly leaning lock.
The interior of the editorial office looked almost prosaic. A large room, full of workstations, shoddy desks piled high with papers, computers and coffee makers. In the air you could feel this specific smell that hovers in every larger office - a mixture of coffee, sweat and tiredness af`` In theory, such an old find should have been handed over to the museum a long time ago, '' Morden said grimly as he and Devyn entered the large glass elevator, `` but we have a small deal with the management of the New York Museum of History and Archeology ... editorial experts, their institution is always at the top of our monthly rankings ...
Devyn snorted softly. He had gotten a bit used to the fact that, even in noble fields like history and archeology, the human drive for power and tangible gains outweighed the sheer thirst for Truth - but he still felt uncomfortable with such pettiness.
- So tell me where did such a thing come from in your editorial office - he said, trying to distract himself from unpleasant thoughts - you conceal it as if it was some amazing secret ...
"Why," growled Morden. "It's just so trivial that it's a shame to talk about it." It came to us as a notarized shipment ... the sender was a certain James Hammerfield.
- THIS Hammerfield? - Kiasyd gasped from the impression - Professor of archeology, world renown, discoverer of many ancient artifacts ???
"Same," Morden muttered, stepping out of the elevator and gesturing for Devyn to follow him, "imagine our reaction to such a sudden gift." Never before has anyone given us such a ... direct gift. And then Hammerfield, who has never been on a good level with our editorial staff, especially after that ill-fated Simpson article on Mombasa ...
- Yes, I remember that - Devyn grimaced - To this day, I do not know why you insisted on this absurd claim about the influence of early African pictorial cultures on ...
- Okay, okay - the fat man interrupted hurriedly - now is not the time for such deliberations. Anyway, the parcel arrived ... we tried to communicate with the professor to explain such an unusual decision ... but for the last few days he was completely out of reach ... even for his relatives. The notary confirmed that the professor had commissioned him to hand over these pages a week earlier, just before he disappeared without a trace.
Walking slowly through the dark corridor, they finally came to a small door, almost invisible next to a large artificial palm tree.
`` This is our private emergency escape route, '' said Morden with a lopsided smile, `` you don't even know how nice it is sometimes to jump out quickly for a pizza or a beer without groveling in front of the editor and our cable receptionist ...
The key rattled against the slightly leaning lock.
The interior of the editorial office looked almost prosaic. A large room, full of workstations, shoddy desks piled high with papers, computers and coffee makers. In the air you could feel this specific smell that hovers in every larger office - a mixture of coffee, sweat and tiredness after hours of sitting. If he had not been aware of the purpose of this place, Devyn would never have guessed that it was the editorial office of a journal dealing with distant travel, history and archeology.
"The document is in the safe, in the chief's room," Morden said, turning the light switch, "you're lucky the weekend is starting and, apart from the cleaners, no one is in the office ... so you have until Sunday evening for your unfortunate" analysis ". although in my opinion it doesn't have the slightest ... what is it?
Suddenly a monstrous thud, a crash and a clink of glass broke into his ears. A hoarse scream towered over everything.
- It's from the chief's office! Morden shrieked, lunging tiger leaps toward the sizable brown door.
- Stop! Devyn shouted, but it was too late. With a thud, the thick door to the office flew off its hinges, slamming its weight against the confused fat man who had the misfortune to be right in front of them at that moment. Morden only let out a soft gasp, then slammed to the ground with the broken door. Kiasyd winced at the hideous crunch of broken bones.
And then he forgot about the editor of the World Review.
A bundle of arms and legs burst into the shambles with a roar and a grunt - it was only after a while that Devyn noticed that they were two figures fighting each other. Tense together, in terrible fury, the two men dealt mighty blows, kicks and bites. One of the desks burst under their weight as those remembered in an orgy of hatred collapsed, crushing office equipment. The computer monitor fell to the ground with the crash of a cracking screen.
Having fallen to the ground from a crushed piece of furniture, the opponents split for a moment, giving Kiasid time to examine them more closely.
One of them, dressed in black trousers and a jacket, hiding his face under a balaclava, was unrecognizable. The other was a short, young man with a pale complexion. The animal's face gleamed with a murderous grimace of teeth, from behind which came a growl that would not be ashamed of a wolf ...
Devyn knew he should do something ... he just didn't know what ...ter hours of sitting. If he had not been aware of the purpose of this place, Devyn would never have guessed that it was the editorial office of a journal dealing with distant travel, history and archeology.
"The document is in the safe, in the chief's room," Morden said, turning the light switch, "you're lucky the weekend is starting and, apart from the cleaners, no one is in the office ... so you have until Sunday evening for your unfortunate" analysis ". although in my opinion it doesn't have the slightest ... what is it?
Suddenly a monstrous thud, a crash and a clink of glass broke into his ears. A hoarse scream towered over everything.
- It's from the chief's office! Morden shrieked, lunging tiger leaps toward the sizable brown door.
- Stop! Devyn shouted, but it was too late. With a thud, the thick door to the office flew off its hinges, slamming its weight against the confused fat man who had the misfortune to be right in front of them at that moment. Morden only let out a soft gasp, then slammed to the ground with the broken door. Kiasyd winced at the hideous crunch of broken bones.
And then he forgot about the editor of the World Review.
A bundle of arms and legs burst into the shambles with a roar and a grunt - it was only after a while that Devyn noticed that they were two figures fighting each other. Tense together, in terrible fury, the two men dealt mighty blows, kicks and bites. One of the desks burst under their weight as those remembered in an orgy of hatred collapsed, crushing office equipment. The computer monitor fell to the ground with the crash of a cracking screen.
Having fallen to the ground from a crushed piece of furniture, the opponents split for a moment, giving Kiasid time to examine them more closely.
One of them, dressed in black trousers and a jacket, hiding his face under a balaclava, was unrecognizable. The other was a short, young man with a pale complexion. The animal's face gleamed with a murderous grimace of teeth, from behind which came a growl that would not be ashamed of a wolf ...
Devyn knew he should do something ... he just didn't know what ...